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bright_ephemera
06.23.2012 , 11:07 PM | #110
62. In which the crew drinks, drinks, and makes merry

A melting-pot serves, every shift,
Many liquors to charm and uplift.
So raise up your stein,
Or spirits, or wine,
And cheer for diversity’s gifts!



Nalenne waved vaguely. “So then I said to him, - Hey, more Tarisian death-juice!”

“I’m pretty sure you never said that to Servant One,” said Vette.

“Talking to the waiter.” The crew was unwinding in a booth at a restaurant on Nar Shaddaa. Nalenne was feeling good. “Look, guys, I know we’ve been working hard. For a long time. Days, probably. Maybe even weeks. So, I think, we should have more outings like this.”

“Hear, hear,” said Pierce, and shotgunned another quart canister of some unnameable substance.

“Because you’re all awesome. Even the lame guy who won’t drink.” Nalenne looked at Broonmark.

“Talz clan does not metabolize alcohol like that,” clicked Broonmark. “Instead we will guard Sith clan.”

“Yup. Exactly so. Ex-act-ly. I need guards.” Nalenne chortled. “I’m dangerous. Rrrrrawr.”

“That’s sounding like weapons confiscation time,” said Vette. She signaled Jaesa to get Nalenne’s lightsaber.

“Why do you keep doing that?” said Nalenne, ignoring Jaesa while the girl took her weapon. “If I’m going overboard I can kill you all just as easily unarmed. Here. Allow me to demonstrate.” She reached in Vette’s general direction and attempted to engage a Force choke. It fell a little ways to the left of Vette’s actual throat. Nalenne frowned and tried again, straining to focus. She missed. Again. Just as Vette was starting to laugh, Nalenne finally found the Twi’lek’s neck. “No, weapons, necessary.”

“My lord,” snapped ghost-Quinn in the tone he only used for high-priority in-combat updates. “Remember yourself.”

Nalenne reflexively complied, but she did make a face. “You’re no fun.”

“Yech,” said Vette, and reached to soothe her throat with more Corellian whiskey. “You clearly need to push past this point on the drunkenness scale.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” growled Pierce. “You do realize you just saved Vette’s life, captain?”

“Don’t mention it,” said Quinn. “Ever. It’s just that it would be disastrous to get the Wrath started in a crowded public space like this.”

“I knew it,” said Nalenne. “Depriving me of fun is even more important to you than hating Vette.”

“Depriving you of fun is one of the foremost public safety challenges of our time, master,” said Jaesa. “It’s just that you’re Sith so usually nobody does it.”

“You’re no fun, either, Jedi.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

Pierce choked on his drink. Quinn returned to his calm pretense of scanning the room for trouble, while a single muscle near his eye twitched, violently. Broonmark made a whirring noise nobody could identify. Vette laughed out loud and managed to be the first to speak. “You’re learning malicious implications, Jaesa, I like it.”

“I am?” Jaesa hiccupped and looked at her fourth wine glass. “I just meant we were playing peanut gallery for Annihilators 3: Rise of the Shyracks, and she said I was fun to, to, you know, with.”

“Talk?” suggested Pierce blandly.

“Yes! That’s it exactly,” said Jaesa gratefully.

“Times like this,” said Pierce, “I understand why milord keeps you around.”

“Times like last night, you mean,” muttered Vette.

“Love you, babe,” said Nalenne.

“All night long,” rumbled Pierce with a wicked grin.

“Not all night. Two and a half hours, give or take,” said Jaesa. “Do we have more of this wine?”
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